


Your Name Upon My Wrist

by MegSamadhi



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegSamadhi/pseuds/MegSamadhi
Summary: The inside of Gilbert’s wrist burned sharply as he watched the name appear.  He’d always known it would be her, but somehow seeing "Anne" written in her soft script upon his skin made him feel like she was finally within reach.  He could imagine her shining brightly as she walked down the aisle toward him.  He could imagine endless, golden days spent together.  God help him, he could imagine the nights too.  But her twentieth birthday was two years away, and who could say what handwriting would appear on her skin, claiming her?  Soul marks were funny things.  Just because Anne was his soul mate did not mean he was hers.





	1. Chapter 1

The inside of Gilbert’s wrist burned sharply as he watched the name appear. He’d always known it would be her, but somehow seeing "Anne" written in her soft script upon his skin made him feel like she was finally within reach. He could imagine her shining brightly as she walked down the aisle toward him. He could imagine endless, golden days spent together. God help him, he could imagine the nights too. But her twentieth birthday was two years away, and who could say what handwriting would appear on her skin, claiming her? Soul marks were funny things. Just because Anne was his soul mate did not mean he was hers. There were men here in White Sands proving that unrequited marks still appeared. Shaking himself of such thoughts, he covered the script with the customary brown leather cuff. It was another three days before his students would depart for the Summer holidays, and he would be free to travel back to Avonlea. He would cherish it, knowing that in the Fall, he’d make the hard-earned journey Redmond College without her.

\------------------------------

Marilla and Mrs. Rachel worked side by side in the Green Gables kitchen. The wax beans needed blanching and canning. Her husband’s death and leaving Avonlea still weighed heavy upon her, but Mrs. Rachel soldiered on. 

“I suppose Gilbert Blythe will be leaving in the Fall for Redmond.”

“Yes,” sighed Marilla. “And I can’t help thinking I’m doing him and Anne a disservice asking her to stay here any longer.”

“You mean you think Anne’s name has come up on his wrist?”

“He started wearing the cuff three weeks past and he’s as fixed on her as ever, so I can’t imagine it hasn’t.”

Marilla shook her head gravely, rubbing at the name that had long since faded beneath her sleeve.

“I’m not over-romantic in general, Rachel, but what if their names fade out, and me with the power to stop it?”

The two reflected in silence.

“Who’s to say his name will show up for her?”

“Oh, who else is there, Rachel? Charlie Sloane? Moody Spurgeon? No, it must be Gilbert.”

Of course his name might not be the one on Anne’s wrist, but Marilla’s heart cherished the hope of it. 

“Well she has the money saved up, hasn’t she? All you’d need is someone here to spare your eyes and your nerves a bit from those two harum-scarums.” 

“Yes, that’s true,” Marilla said, straightening. “And I’ve been meaning to broach the subject with you, now that you come to it, Rachel. How would you feel moving up here with me, rather than away with your daughter? It’d be a real help to me and it would let Anne go up to Kingsport with Gilbert.”

“Why,” said Mrs. Rachel, “I don’t know what to say Marilla Cuthbert. I- I hate the thought of leaving Avonlea, even if it is to my own kin, and Lord knows we could both do with the company. And anyway it wouldn’t be right, me keeping Anne from her soulmate when I could just as well send her on her way. Yes. I’ll come at the end of Summer when the farm is sold.”

She nodded her head decidedly. 

“It’s providential, that’s what.”

\------------------------------

There was an uncomfortable tension in the air as they walked. None of the banter she and Gilbert usually shared was able to break past it. Charlie Sloane, his goggle eyes seeming more prominent than ever, was walking with them despite living half a mile in the opposite direction. Gilbert tried gamely to break the ice between them.

“What will you study at Redmond in the Fall, Charlie?”

“Oh, I’m for business,” he said importantly, the way only a Sloane could. “I intend to be a magnificent provider. My match will surely want for nothing.”

Only a Sloane could take an uncomfortable walk and make it more-so.

“That is – an admirable goal, Charlie,” Gilbert said, taken aback by the unusual answer. 

“What will you study, Gilbert?” asked Anne, genuinely curious.

“I’d like to study medicine,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you remember Mrs. Singer’s son, Bertie?”

“Yes, of course! He had a fit of asthma at the church picnic last month! It was quite bad, wasn’t it?”

“It was. And if Doctor Harper hadn’t been there to burn thorn apple leaves he might have died. To be able to snatch people back from the brink of death like that-”

“You make it sound like you want to play God, Gilbert,” Charlie said disapprovingly.

“I only mean to work as God’s instrument to save those who can be saved,” he replied quietly.

Anne smiled to herself, thinking of Gilbert becoming a doctor and of Charlie becoming a man of business. Both professions fit the young men who had chosen them. Still she couldn’t help thinking that Charlie, with all of his noble ambition to provide for his match, had come up short somehow.

“I wish I could come to Redmond with you both,” she sighed wistfully. “It seems as though you’re walking through a door that is closed to me.”

“Nonsense, Anne,” said Charlie. “You can continue to keep up your studies here as you’ve been doing and by the time your mark appears, who knows what will change.”

“You mean to say, I suppose, that I would waste myself and my efforts at Redmond when I will be a mere wife,” she said, her temper flaring up at the easy dismissal.

Charlie flushed, but held his head high as they neared the lane that led to Green Gables.

“What would you study, Anne?” Gilbert asked as though Charlie hadn’t spoken.

“Oh, as many things as I could!” she said dreamily. “English, of course, and writing and literature-” she broke off as they reached the gate and looked at Green Gables with a soft smile. “But my heart and my family are here, and I am not unhappy. You must both write to me so that I can live the adventures of Redmond through your eyes.”

\------------------------------

A gorgeously mild day found Anne walking home from a visit with Miss Lavender. Anne loved the refreshing turn of the weather after weeks of unbroken heat. She breathed in the sweet air, heavy with the promise of rain, and thought of her dear kindred spirit. How she loved Miss Lavender’s joy and whimsy. Before this morning, she’d believed her dear friend to be matchless; divinely content with everything in her life, including her nameless wrist. Anne had vowed to model her life upon her, should a blank wrist be her fate. She had long ago resigned herself to such a possibility, reasoning that neither God nor the great universe would saddle her tall, distinguished ideal with an ill-tempered, red-haired soulmate. She thought sadly of those wrists left blank, and wondered if she would truly number among them. But just think of it! Miss Lavender had a soulmate after all! It was a solemn and sacred thing to be shown another’s mark. Many kept them strictly to themselves, not daring to show even their own parents. What a thrill to see the bold, dark letters, the ‘Stephen’ written in a firm, masculine hand on Miss Lavender’s wrist! 

“I believe you have given me new life, Anne,” she whispered conspiratorially as she removed a delicate bracelet from her wrist. “For so long, his name has faded until I though there must be no shred of hope left. But just look how dark it is since you first came to Echo Lodge!”

She was still tingling with the same light that had danced in Miss Lavender’s eyes, shuddering to think of watching a name fade into hopelessness as Marilla and Matthew must have done. She hoped with all of her soul for a reunion between Miss Lavender and Mr. Irving, wondering how she might help to bring it about. These happy plans and daydreams of romance kept her starry-eyed as she drifted home. She gave no thought to her surroundings or to the darkening skies. Her imagination was working tirelessly on Miss Lavender’s happily ever after, and no earthly care could deter her musings.

\------------------------------

“Good afternoon, Miss Cuthbert. Looks like Uncle Abe will get his storm after all,” Gilbert laughed, looking at the clouds closing in around them. His smile dropped the moment he saw her face and he rushed to her side. 

“Miss Cuthbert! Are you ill?”

“I’m fine, Gilbert,” she said, brusquely. “It’s only that Anne went to Echo Lodge this morning.”

Gilbert looked at the heavy black clouds again, his face turning grave.

“What time is she usually home?”

“She’s likely on her way now.”

“I’ll search along the road,” he said, turning and racing down the lane.

\------------------------------

Anne could just see the White Way of Delight on the horizon as she hummed, bending to pick a vibrant armful of wildflowers and sighing contentedly. A large wet drop on her nose shook her from her task, and she looked up in alarm at the mass of evil-looking clouds that had descended upon her. How had she failed to notice that the breeze, which had been so pleasant and cool a moment ago, had become a gale? Another drop fell close by and she cursed herself for never travelling with an umbrella. Resigned to the soggy trip home, she looked up the road once more. Only this time, instead of seeing the Avenue, she beheld a thick sheet of rain that extended up into the forbidding clouds. This didn’t look like any shower she’d ever seen. A sudden blast of wet, icy wind ripped the vibrant foliage from her arms and she gasped at the power of it, gathering her skirts. 

Should she run toward the storm for home? She was very nearly there. The sky erupted with blinding flashes of lightning and deafening thunder. She turned back the way she had come, startled at the violence and menace of it. How long would it take to run to Echo Lodge? Surely at the rate she was hurrying along, she could be there in no more than half an hour. Goodness, could she keep up this pace for so long? Wind roared around her as the downpour began in earnest and she stumbled, hardly able to see through the driving rain. Oh, how miserably her skirts were clinging to her! If only she were a lad, wearing sensible britches, she was sure she could outrun this tempest. She continued her staggering run until she felt the strangest sensation envelop her, as though the air itself was tingling. When she felt her hair stand on end, some deep-buried instinct took over, and she threw herself to the muddy ground. No words could describe Anne’s shock and terror. So horrifying was the sound of the tree split by lightning – so blinding the spasm of light and fire! The air itself smelled burnt and broken. She must find shelter. There was no question of being able to reach Echo Lodge. She staggered to her feet and began to hurry along once more, looking for shelter of any kind. The first of the hail went unnoticed as she fought her way forward, but she couldn’t help crying out in agony as ice the size of her fist struck her shoulder, then her brow. She fell to the ground, stunned as the ice continued to hurl down upon her, and numbly tried to shield herself. 

The next moment, strong arms pulled her up and she found herself running, still struck on every side by the stones of ice hurtling from the sky, but running at least. Her last conscious thought was of immense pain blooming behind her left ear. 

\------------------------------

Gilbert could feel her shaking. It was all that was keeping him grounded right now. He thanked God for the small canoe he had found overturned by the brook. When he had felt Anne go limp in his arms, he’d very nearly laid her down to shield her with his body. Hearing the orbs of ice crack sharply on the wood just inches above them, he knew now what folly that would have been. 

He had lain down on his side, holding her close to keep them both shielded. Had his fear for Anne’s safety been any less, he surely would have thrilled to be laying with her forehead resting against his, her breath soft upon his lips. When he felt her stir against him, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

\------------------------------

The light was too dim to make anything out, but with a certainty she didn’t care to examine, she knew it was Gilbert. His scent, the strength of his arms, his breath upon her face – there was a familiarity about it all – a sense of peace and safety. Her head was pillowed against his arm, and his forehead tilted against hers. The hail was deafening, crashing mercilessly on a surface just inches above them. She was conscious enough now to feel every one of her limbs shaking and she took in a shuddering breath, burrowing closer to Gilbert’s warmth. For long minutes, they simply held one another, waiting for the storm to subside. She drew in an unsteady breath when she felt his nose brush against hers. How close were his lips? She had narrowly escaped being crushed by the ice, but her heart was racing now for entirely different reasons. Gilbert Blythe was going to kiss her. He wasn’t the tall, dark hero of her ideal, but she couldn’t stop herself from lifting her chin slightly in anticipation. A breath away from each other, lightning cracked dreadfully close to the little canoe, jolting them apart. 

\------------------------------

The lightning strike had doused any hope Gilbert might have had of claiming Anne that day. He knew her mark was two years away from appearing, but for a moment, he’d wanted to know, without a doubt, that she belonged to him. He wanted to see if the stories of the soulmate’s kiss were true – if the names could be felt in the kiss. 

In any case, he cursed his stupidity. The near miss had worked against him immediately, throwing him squarely back into timid friendship rather than the growing confidence they had begun to share in each other.

He watched miserably a week later, as she took Charlie’s arm, allowing him to escort her home.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank God for Priscilla Grant.  Thank God for Philippa Gordon.  Anne was even willing to thank God for Miss Ada’s dozens of little cushions.  She had adored Redmond college once the worst of her homesickness had worn off.  She had never felt quite so bright or gay as she did these days, debating new ideas, or delving into undiscovered literature.  Never before had her appetite for knowledge been so satisfied.  She worked with her whole heart to be at the head of her classes, striving after the coveted Thorburn Scholarship in English, which would lift the burden of her second year from Marilla’s meager savings.  She never knew how she was able to keep so well abreast of her studies and classes that first term. 

The Christmas holidays were a warm and cozy return to dear Avonlea, but Anne was surprised to find how different she felt there.  Perhaps the place had changed little by little without her ever noticing.  Or perhaps it was her that had changed.  Green Gables still held the old warmth and familiarity she had longed for throughout her first term at Redmond, but somehow, it was no longer ‘home’ in the same way it had been.  It could never be that again, she realized. 

She took heart in visiting with her friends.  Diana was somehow lovelier than ever, and Anne couldn’t help but notice a few of her admirers in Avonlea.  She and Diana laughed and whispered and wondered at them all, weighing their worthiness to appear on Diana’s wrist.

Ruby had as many beaux as ever, and seemed intent on enjoying their admiration until her own twentieth birthday revealed which of them she would belong to.  But somehow, she seemed quite different.  She resolved to ask Marilla if she had noticed the change.

One friend she had not expected to call during her short trip home was Jane Andrews.  Jane had taken Avonlea school when Anne had left for Redmond, and Anne couldn’t help asking after her pupils.  Jane replied in bland, unsatisfactory terms, which left a pang in Anne’s heart for her bright, imaginative students.  After a quarter hour of idle chat had passed away, Jane turned to Anne seriously and asked:

"Anne, what do you think of my brother Billy?"

"I -- I don't understand, Jane," she stammered. "What do you mean -- exactly?"

"Do you like Billy?" asked Jane bluntly.

"Why -- why -- yes, I like him, of course," gasped Anne, wondering if she were telling the literal truth. Certainly she did not DISlike Billy. But could the indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when he happened to be in her range of vision, be considered positive enough for liking? WHAT was Jane trying to elucidate?

"Would you like him for a husband?" asked Jane calmly.

"A husband!" Anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle with the problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. Now she fell flatly back on her pillows, the very breath gone out of her. "Whose husband?"

"Yours, of course," answered Jane. "Billy wants to marry you. He's always been crazy about you -- and now father has given him the upper farm in his own name and there's nothing to prevent him from getting married. He’s got ‘Annetta’ on his wrist, which is close enough to Anne.  It’s just that he's so shy he couldn't ask you himself if you'd have him, so he got me to do it. I'd rather not have, but he gave me no peace till I said I would, if I got a good chance. What do you think about it, Anne?"

"I -- I couldn't marry Bill, you know, Jane," she managed to gasp. "Why, such an idea never occurred to me -- never!"

"I don't suppose it did," agreed Jane. "Billy has always been far too shy to think of courting. But you might think it over, Anne. Billy is a good fellow. I must say that, if he is my brother. He has no bad habits and he's a great worker, and you can depend on him. `A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' He told me to tell you he'd be quite willing to wait till you got through college, if you insisted, though he'd RATHER get married this spring before the planting begins. He'd always be very good to you, I'm sure, and you know, Anne, I'd love to have you for a sister."

"I can't marry Billy," said Anne decidedly. She had recovered her wits, and was even feeling a little angry. ‘Annetta’ was close enough to ‘Anne’? It was all so ridiculous. "There is no use thinking of it, Jane. I don't care anything for him in that way, and I’m certain his name will never appear on my wrist.  You must tell him so."

"Well, I didn't suppose you would," said Jane with a resigned sigh, feeling that she had done her best. "I told Billy I didn't believe it was a bit of use to ask you, but he insisted. Well, you've made your decision, Anne, and I hope you won't regret it."

Anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea that she might ever regret not marrying Billy Andrews.

"I hope Billy won't feel very badly over it," she said nicely.

"Oh, he won't break his heart. Billy has too much good sense for that. He likes Nettie Blewett pretty well, too, and mother would rather he married her than any one.  She thinks ‘Nettie’ is as close as he’ll find to ‘Annetta,’ you see. She's a good manager and saver too. I think, when Billy is once sure you won't have him, he'll take Nettie.”

............................................

Gilbert tried to laugh along with the absurdity of Billy Andrews’ proposal by proxy, but his performance was sorely lacking.  His saving grace was Diana, captivating all of Anne’s attention as she gasped and inquired in all the proper places.  He was far from amused.  He felt righteous anger and abject terror.  He knew he had nothing to fear from Billy Andrews, but what about the next man to ask for her hand?  What of the other callers at thirty-eight St. John’s?  The ones who followed Anne about with silly, lovesick grins, and vied with him and Charlie to escort Anne to the college functions?  He had always planned to wait for Anne’s twentieth birthday.  He wanted to allow her time feel for him the way she had, for just a moment, the day of the storm.  But perhaps he shouldn’t wait.  Perhaps he was risking his future happiness.

He shook himself, and forced a chuckle as she recounted Jane’s hope that she wouldn’t regret turning Billy down.  He could master himself for Anne’s sake.  It wasn’t fair to ask for her hand with so little to offer her.  When her mark appeared, he hoped to be a full-fledged BA off to start his Medical Course.  If Anne would have him, he was determined it would be as a man who was able to provide for her, not a lovesick lad without a single prospect. 

His resolution was shaken badly as they entered the cold grips of February. Charlie Sloane had grown distant since they’d arrived at Redmond, and Gilbert was surprised to find him visiting now.

“I’m going to marry Anne,” he said without preamble.

Gilbert felt the breath sucked out of him.

“You – she’s – she’s accepted you?” he asked, staggered.

“No, but I intend to ask her tonight.  I’ve no doubt of my reception,” Charlie said, exuding a confidence that was crushing down on him.

Anne had never showed any partiality to Charlie, but then, she’d never repulsed him either.

“Why?”

“Because our first year is nearly behind us, and I must secure her before some other simpleton tries for her.  I’ve had a letter from Billy Andrews–”

“No, Charlie.  Why Anne?”

Charlie looked at him incredulously.

“She’s my soulmate, Gilbert.  Surely you must know that,” he scoffed, removing his cuff and revealing the name there.

“I show you this in the strictest confidence, of course,” he said as Sloane-ishly as possible.  “I am sure you understand when I ask you to diminish your presence in her life once we are engaged.  It would only be proper.”

“That’s not her handwriting,” Gilbert managed, after the shock had passed. 

“You can’t possibly know that, Gilbert.  In any case, writing changes.  It evolves,” Charlie said dismissively.  “I expect we won’t see as much of each other going forward.  Goodbye Gilbert.”

With that Charlie held out his hand.

“Goodbye Charlie,” Gilbert replied, his hands firmly at his sides.

............................................

“Mrs. Charlie Sloane,” Anne groaned, fluffing poor Miss Ada’s cushion as best she could before throwing herself on the bed.  “What could he be thinking?  I’ve never thought of him any such way!  And to show me his soul mark!  Ridiculous man.  I don’t even write my A’s like that.”

“Anne, what on earth did you do to Charlie and Gilbert?” Priscilla asked, walking in and throwing herself upon the bed beside her.

“I’ve said I would never become Mrs. Charlie Sloane,” she groaned.  “Can you imagine it, Priscilla?”

“No, I can’t say that I can,” she laughed good-naturedly.  “And Gil?”

“What about him?”

“Why he’s standing across the street, looking as though someone ran over his cat.”

Turning to the window, Anne looked out, confused.

“There’s no one there.  Are you sure?”

“Positive.  I thought it was strange that he didn’t come in, but then I was distracted by Charlie slamming out the front door, so I ran right up.”

“I hope he’s alright, but I can’t think of that just now.  What on earth has happened to the men of the world, Priscilla?  Why can’t they just be sensible?”


	3. Chapter 3

Anne was in high spirits.  She, Priscilla, Phil and Stella would be lodging together in the most charming cottage come Fall term – a dream she couldn’t have imagined!  As if that weren’t enough, she’d secured her scholarship as well, shielding Marilla from the cost of her second year.  When she’d come home to Avonlea for the Summer, everything felt promising. 

Anne knew the very morning Diana received her mark that she’d lost a part of her friend forever.  Even this couldn’t dampen her spirits.  How could she be grieved in the face of Diana’s bliss?  Indeed, Diana had vowed she’d never love any but the dark, inscrutable hero of her and Anne’s imaginations, but the looks Fred and Diana shared scattered her disappointment to the wind.  Soul marks were funny like that – they laughed at your plans and dreams.  Not that it meant her own dark, inscrutable hero wasn’t waiting for her somewhere.  She simply had to be patient.  The joy of Summer had faded cruelly with Ruby’s death, and she had returned to Redmond with a heavy heart.

The start of second year seemed such a drudge somehow.  She couldn’t remember ever spending so much time poring over her books and lessons.  She felt stretched thin and tired and gloomy.  Perhaps it was the weather.  Snow and frost had dominated since October, and she couldn’t help feeling as sullen as the skies above.  When a warm spell engulfed Kingsport, she almost rejoiced in it.  It was warm enough for a dull, grey November afternoon to pour down freezing rain instead of snow.  Anne had never been caught out without her umbrella since _that_ day.  Even with its shelter, stormy days always took her back to that moment with Gilbert, wrapped in his arms, his lips so close to hers.  Today, with the freezing rain driving down and the wind gusting about her, she had an especially hard time reconciling her tall, dark, handsome ideal with the feelings Gilbert had inspired then.  Oh, how she wished her soul mate could be both!  Why couldn’t her Byronic hero be dark and brooding, but also have Gilbert’s steady warmth and stunning strength and remarkable chivalry and – Oh!  She gasped as a strong gust tore her umbrella inside out.  Cursing her bad luck, she wrapped her arms about herself and turned toward home, only to be stopped by the most delicious voice.

“Pardon me – may I offer you the shelter of my umbrella?”

Anne looked up. Tall and handsome and distinguished-looking—dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes—melting, musical, sympathetic voice—yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. He could not have more closely resembled her ideal if he had been made to order.

They spent only a half hour together waiting for the rain to subside, but Anne went to bed that night with her heart beating to her fingertips.  She traced her left wrist thinking of him.  _Royal Gardner_.  Perhaps she’d found her ideal at last.

.....................................................

_Perhaps she’s met her ideal at last_ , Gilbert thought bitterly, as he watched Anne take Roy Gardner’s arm.  Why had he ever convinced himself to wait?  He’d been watching them in agony for three months now.  His mind chewed away on questions of the universe.  Would Roy’s name appear on her wrist if she thought herself in love with him?  If he’d told her he loved her, would his name have had a better chance?  Her twentieth birthday was three weeks away, and he felt like a defeated man.  He had always known unrequited marks were possible, but his heart had shaped and nurtured the image of his future with her so tenderly that he’d never dwelled on it.  Now it was all that filled his mind. 

Unrequited.  Hopeless.  Heartbroken.  Alone. 

.....................................................

Phil had been stroking Anne’s hair for the better part of an hour, trying to talk sense into her.

“But it was supposed to be _Roy_ ,” she hiccoughed miserably.  “How could God lead me to my perfect ideal only to write Gilbert’s name on my wrist?”

“Haven’t you _ever_ felt anything more for Gilbert?”

Anne stubbornly shook her head, pushing down the tiny fluttering in her heart.

“Then you think Roy can make you happier than Gilbert can?”

“I – I don’t know!  How am I supposed to know such a thing?  Whether or not he can, what does it matter?  I must give him up.  This has forced it upon me!”

“Nonsense.  Why should it?  Keep your mark covered like a sensible girl, and carry on as though your birthday never happened.”

“How could I do such a thing to either of them?” she cried, scandalized.

“Why, Anne.  Do you think I ought to have told off Alec and Alonzo the moment my mark appeared?  They love me and I’m fond of them both, and either of them could give me a comfortable life.  People marry outside of their marks every day.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t you always wonder about him?  The man written there?”

“Wouldn’t you wonder about Roy if you gave him up over a name?  Your wrist doesn’t decide your entire destiny, Anne.  At least I’m determined it shall not decide mine.”

Phil had been quite shaken, herself, when her mark had appeared bearing a name she’d never encountered before in her life. 

“Somehow, I feel like I’ll regret any decision I make.”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing.  Letting a name on your wrist decide what you feel is going about it all backward.  You’d be much better off deciding how you feel before anything else.”

Anne was afraid Phil had come rather close to the heart of things.

.....................................................

As per the custom, Anne received no visitors on the day of her mark.  Gifts were left for her.  Roy had sent a box of violets and a sonnet.  They were perfectly lovely violets.  And it was a perfectly nice sonnet.  It was everything she would have swooned over a few short years ago.  But gone was the girl who had written Averil’s Atonement, full of tragedy and over-colored romance.  Now, rather than swooning, she wondered if Roy really knew her at all. She certainly couldn’t imagine _Gilbert_ writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. 

Gilbert.  She rubbed the mark on her wrist before turning to the rest of the gifts.  Gilbert’s had a letter attached.  She took a shuddering breath.  Was her name on _his_ wrist?  Had he known for two years?  She thought back to the storm, knowing he had come through hell to find her, and had found a way to shelter her against it.  That was dramatic and romantic enough for even her ill-fated Averil.  Could they truly be soul mates? 

_Dear Anne,_

_I visited a cousin in Bolingbroke over Christmas and with a few inquiries, I found your parents’ home.  Forgive me, Anne, I couldn’t help visiting.  I’ve heard you imagine it out loud a hundred times, and it made me feel warm inside, seeing it.  You’d approve Anne.  It’s a little yellow house in an out-of-the-way street.  There’s a lilac tree by the gate that must bloom magnificently in the Spring, and the muslin curtains are hanging in the windows, just as you’ve imagined.  The woman who lives there now remembers your mother and father.  She said your father was kind and hardworking, and your mother was adored by her students.  People here say that there were never two people more in love with each other.  It was nice to think of them so in love and happy with you there._

_It’s just a small place, but she took me upstairs into the bedroom that faces East, where you were born.  She said you were born just as the sun was rising and its light on your face was the first thing your mother saw.  Your mother must have loved the sunrise._

_I hope you can go there yourself someday Anne.  My descriptions are starved of the details you crave, and I’m sorry for giving you a poor man’s version of what should have been poetry._

_As I was leaving, she gave me this packet of letters.  She wasn’t sure what was in them and nor am I.  I leave it to you to discover.  Happy birthday, Anne._

_Yours,  
Gilbert_

She wasn’t sure when the tears had begun falling, but they didn’t stop until hours after she’d read through the packet of letters.  They were between her mother and father, full of love for each other and for her, their baby girl.  Gilbert’s gift had been her family.  He had made her feel like she was an orphan no longer.  Her parents were as real to her now as though she could remember them.  Roy had written her a sonnet that was everything she’d once thought was romance, but somehow Gilbert’s letter was sweeter to her than any poetry.  How did he do that?  How did he write a letter full of love without a single mention of it?

Oh, what on Earth was she to do?


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert was walking home from class through the old cemetery when he crossed paths with her.  It had been two weeks since her twentieth birthday, and it had been a daily battle with himself to give her the space he thought she needed.  He hadn’t seen her with Roy, but she certainly hadn’t sought him out either.  For a single, terrifying moment, he thought she had received a different name entirely.  His mind raced as she caught sight of him. 

“Gilbert!” she smiled and moved toward at him.  His breath caught in his throat as she caught one of his hands in both of hers.  “Gilbert, how can I ever thank you?  You’ve given me my family.”

It took longer than it should have to realize _he_ wasn’t the family she meant.

“You aren’t angry with me for going?”

“Of course not!  You’ve given me the most beautiful glimpse of them!  It means so much to me Gilbert.”

“I wish you’d been there,” he smiled warmly before changing the subject.  He had learned from the day of the storm.  He would not act rashly again. 

“Can you believe it’s nearly May?  What will you do once you graduate, Anne?”

“Goodness, what DOES a ‘full-fledged BA’ do?” she laughed, releasing his hand and falling into easy conversation as he walked her home.

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Anne wished she knew whether her name was on Gilbert’s wrist. For a month, they’d been nearly inseparable, but he’d acted just like the friend he’d always been.  Did he hope for more?  She’d been terrified of belonging to him since the moment he appeared on her skin, but what if he belonged to someone else?  The thought should relieve her.  Instead it made her burn uncomfortably.  If Gilbert belonged to anyone, it should be her. 

She remembered Billy Andrews and his ridiculous proposal.  She remembered Charlie and his haughty appeal to become Mrs. Charlie Sloane.  Could she become Mrs. Gilbert Blythe?  A small thrill rushed through her at the thought, and she allowed herself to wonder.  How would he propose to his soul mate?  Would he fall to one knee and declare his undying love for her?  Surely not, he was far too sensible for that.  Would he show her the name upon his wrist?  No, he wouldn’t think it honorable to press her in such a way.  She though back to that stormy Summer day, wrapped up in his warmth and could almost wish for it to happen that way.  To have him take her boldly in his arms, to capture her lips–  And there it was.  There, at last, was her answer.  She was imagining herself in Gilbert’s arms.  Imagining his lips caressing hers.  Goodness, she was _hoping_ for it.  It scared her how much she wanted him to belong to her – how horribly wrong it would be for him to belong to anyone else.

She’d been falling a moment at a time.  He’d drawn her toward him so gently, she’d never noticed how close they’d come – a breath away from each other all this time.  She cared for him.  She always had.  She’d just never known that she loved him.    

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His hands were on her.  She could feel his arms wrapped around her as he loosened the stays of her dress.  His lips brushed across her neck as he breathed her in.  She allowed her hands to reach for his shirt, undoing the buttons there before shyly resting her palms against his bare chest.  She thrilled in his warmth and shuddered when she felt the last fastening on her garment fall away.  She woke up panting with desire.  These dreams had haunted her through graduation and had followed her back to Avonlea.  She lay in the gable room of her childhood overwrought from the weight of uncertainty.  Why didn’t he give her a sign?  Some small token of assurance that his wrist bore her name?  And how was she supposed to act around Gilbert with this immodesty boiling just beneath the surface?  Gathering her wits, she kicked off the bedclothes and dressed for the day.  She must ask him.  He was leaving in less than a month for his medical course.  She must find a way to be sure.

She left without a word to anyone or a crumb of breakfast and missed the significant look that passed between Marilla and Mrs. Rachel at her abrupt departure.

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They’d been walking for nearly an hour, and still, she hadn’t brought herself to ask about his mark.  She’d dragged him out into the morning dew with a vague mention of the improvement society’s progress.  They’d admired many of the small projects and had turned into the White Way of Delight before she forced herself to the point.

“Gilbert.  Do you ever think of Uncle Abe’s storm?”

He didn’t answer right away and she peered sideways at him nervously.  There was a huskiness in his voice when responded.

“All the time.”

“Do– do you ever wish that… the lightening hadn’t struck when it did?”

She blushed, asking such a bold question of him.  His eyes seemed to darken as he stopped walking and turned to face her.  After a long moment, he asked:

“Do you, Anne?”

She couldn’t answer.  Her heart was beating too quickly.  They stood facing each other in silence until Gilbert took a step closer.  Her breath stuttered as his hand came up to rest upon her cheek, his thumb trailing across the corner of her lips.  She closed the distance between them, reaching for him, and it was his breath that caught this time.  Her hands trailed up until her arms encircled his neck, and her heart raced to feel his arms responding, pulling her close against him.  When his lips met hers at last, every doubt vanished.

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Nothing existed outside of this moment.  Nothing but Anne.  Her body melted into him and he couldn’t help the fierceness of his response.  For two years, he’d refrained – he’d kept careful control of every word and expression in her presence.  Now, he let himself revel in the feel of her, the taste of her.  He pulled her closer, breathing her in before his lips drifted from hers to find the sensitive skin of her neck.  A reckless pride grew in him as his lips drew sharp gasps and shuddering breaths from her.  No other man would ever hear his Anne breathe like this.  No other man had the right to her.  She belonged to him.

His lips found hers again, and the intensity of her response left him weak with desire.  He broke the kiss at last, still holding her close, his breathing unsteady.  She rested her head against him and he could feel her warm breath against his neck.

“I’ve had the same dream for so long, Anne,” he said, low and unsteady.  “I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends… and you.  Always you.”

Her lips curling into a smile against him was all he needed.


End file.
